


A Worse Fate

by Maze316



Category: Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Gen, Let's Give This Asshole Some Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 16:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maze316/pseuds/Maze316
Summary: What does one fear when they no longer fear death?





	A Worse Fate

He’d always been well acquainted with death. 

The humans had myths of the grim reaper. A looming, hooded figure that stole away the spirits of the dying. A razor-sharp scythe that tore away their souls. A face of death itself.

It was not completely unfounded; his kind did not like to be seen. They would always fade if any human found them. And, well, humans, they tend to make up their own conclusions. 

There was a time when Dusknoir had a clean cloth, as they said. His evolution was only recent. It was only a matter of time until such a particularly curious Dusclops found the reaper cloth that gave the myth its name. He was an explorer, after all. 

His guild set their sights on a new destination: a volcano to the northwest. They’d been investigating the moltan island it stood on for ages. Rumors circled of the legendary Heatran residing there. Finally fully evolved, Dusknoir was permitted to investigate. He was partnerless and fully independent. This was his chance, he thought, his chance to prove himself in the field.

The volcano was scorching. Every step threatened to burn. He had to remind himself the guild had determined it would not yet erupt. He trusted the academic minds of his friends. He trusted his own judgement, which had gone into their predictions. They kept him going until he heard the screams.

His hands clutched at his face. Piercing, desperate screams shot through the dungeon. Pokemon froze and fled in terror. The resulting chaos couldn’t begin to muffle the endless wailing.

Dusknoir felt irresistibly drawn to it. 

He moved toward the sound of screaming, his face contorting in pain. He could almost tell where it was coming from — around that corner. The room was nearly empty. The only thing that filled it was pools of magma and a single body that lay on the ground.

Flames covered the Pokemon’s body. Dusknoir rushed to it. He batted at the flames with his large hands, suffocating the fire. As the searing heat no longer clawed at him, Dusknoir examined the Pokemon.

Their body was black. Scorched nubs of wings grew from its back; what little still remained was shades of orange. He recognized a Mothim from a mountain just south of the volcano. The windy Mount Minstral.

“Why am I still alive?” a hoarse voice asked.

“I put out the fire. What happened? How did you get here?”

“The winds, they turned… And I… was blown…” Their face contorted with effort.

“You were blown here,” Dusknoir concluded.

“Why are you here?” the Mothim asked. 

“I’m an explorer from…” Dusknoir started, and stopped. They were the only two Pokemon, alone. The screams had scared the rest away. “I don’t know,” he answered.

“Please. Help me,” the Mothim pleaded.

“Help you?” Dusknoir asked. The Mothim’s body was badly burned, disfigured from the flames. They would not be long for this world. He gently put a hand on them. As their body shifted, a mirror of it remained in place.

“I’m lost,” the mirror said. 

Their body did not move as their spirit lay beside it. Dusknoir reached out his hand again, and he gingerly picked up their spirit. The gentle creature was cradled in his arms, their eyes still foggy. In that moment, Dusknoir knew what he had to do.

That night, his guild found a badge discarded at their doorstep. Dusknoir never returned from his mission. They never saw him again.

 

\---

 

The call could summon him from anywhere.

He’d traveled miles upon miles, following its lead. His experience as an explorer served him well; he never had to stop, and he never had to turn back. He made winding paths across the continent. He had no direction. The only thing he sought was the flow of death.

He felt it once in the east. There was a jungle. He did not know its name. It was full of life, teaming with communities of Pokemon. Families were scattered in the trees, seeking refuge from the endless array of life. 

It was dark in the undergrowth. The length of days were growing longer. Although it felt like night, the sunlight still draped the west. Even in the humid jungle, the heat of the sun didn’t penetrate as far as it had. He’d heard whispers about time degrading. He’d never heard about anything like that.

The jungle was thick. He camped only half of the long night. Past the twilight and before the dawn, he traveled. It didn’t rain. He’d read that jungles like this tended to rain multiple times a day. Perhaps it was just late. He couldn’t know.

The call was close now. Whoever was the source was suffering. It motivated him to move faster. Suffering was not necessary, but at times unavoidable. The undergrowth grew thicker the farther he went. He reached what seemed to be a wall of trees. The foliage around it was too thick to see through.

He ran through the possibilities in his head. He threw back his fist, and he punched the wall of trees. The wood cracked under his strike. He punched again, and again, and again, and soon, a rudimentary hole formed. 

An opening. He punched harder, his energy rising. He tore away at the plant material, ignoring the splinters that lodged themselves in his hands. 

He formed a hole large enough to pass through. Hovering a little higher to reach, he heaved himself through. There was a clearing. As he thought. Off to his left, a shelter had been built. He was close. He could feel it.

The moment he passed through, a creature hissed at him. Turning, he was face-to-face with a Sceptile. Their beak-like jaw gaped at him, and anger burned in their eyes.

“ _ Who are you? Why are you here? Leave! _ ” They growled at him.

“You know why I am here,” Dusknoir said, his fists still clenched.

“ _ We don’t want you! Go away! _ ”

“They’re only going to suffer further. Don’t you want it to end?”

The Sceptile closed their mouth. Their head tilted, as if appraising his character. 

“If you touch anyone else, you’re dead.”

“I’m okay with that.” Dusknoir kept his single eye locked with the Sceptile until they glanced at the shelter. Dusknoir followed his stare and saw a figure in the doorway. The Sceptile stepped aside. In that moment, the figure screamed. Not the same, drawing cry of death, but a scream of the living. They disappeared into the shelter.

“Get it over with,” the Sceptile said.

Dusknoir nodded and made his way toward the shelter. It was strange; it was larger than any Pokemon shelter he had seen, but much less sophisticated than those in civilization. Before he reached the door, the figure shout out, carrying something in their arms. They sprinted behind the Spectile, their eyes wide with fear.

Dusknoir stopped. It was a human. He’d seen drawing of them in books before. They were nearly nonexistent on this continent; most lived on the opposite hemisphere. It was the first he’d seen one in the flesh. The Sceptile stood tall, his arms stretched out protectively.

Very strange indeed.

The shelter door was covered by large leaves, which Dusknoir brushed aside. Off to the side, there was a rectangular platform that held another human. They moaned gently, and Dusknoir could nearly feel the fever radiating from them. 

“ _ Are you the grim reaper _ ?” asked the human it their language. Dusknoir did not understand. 

“I’m here to bring you home,” Dusknoir said.

“ _ I don’t want to die. _ ”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be to the other side in no time.”

“ _ Please, don’t touch my baby. I don’t care if I die. Just let the others live _ .”

“This won’t hurt.” Dusknoir reached down to the human. He could see now that they were lying in some kind of flat nest. His arms wrapped around the human, and their soul came easily. He’d perfected the process. The body was completely undisturbed.

“ _ What’s going to happen to me? Am I going to heaven? To hell? Is there anything out there? _ ”

“I don’t know what’s on the other side. I can’t stay there. Not until it’s my own time. The curiosity is killing me. ...No pun intended.”

“ _ Oh God, please, someone, have mercy. _ ”

“We’re almost there.”

He had stopped fearing death long ago.

 

\---

 

He no longer felt the call of death.

Not that it was no longer present, no. It was white noise in the back of his mind. Death was so prevalent, predation rampant. If one were to listen to every voice, they would go mad. Dusknoir had adapted to ignore this.

The future had its own advantages. The potential for exploration was near infinite. Without the degrading river of time, there were no more ruins. Old civilizations, from centuries past to only years, were perfectly preserved from the moment time completely stopped. It was a dream come true.

Months were lost in his investigation. He scrutinized every nook and cracky of every dungeon. Treasure was found, and treasure was left. Hovering, observant, Dusknoir did not disturb a particle of dust. 

Perfect perpetuation. He was free to experience all of it. The civilizations would live forever. And so would he.

Eventually, the unthinkable happened: a change. Dusknoir felt it in his core. It was the draw, as strong as it had once been. He could not distract himself with relics and treasure and the past. It was completely and entirely unignorable. 

He had to follow.

He reached a telltale ruins. It took him what had once been weeks. The rubble of columns floated stagnantly in the air. Cracks schismed the ground he crossed. The call was stronger now. He could no longer control himself; he was overwhelmed by it. Instinct took over. His senses told him nothing about its source. He wandered in circles, breathing harder, hands shaking. 

The source introduced itself with a roar. The deep scream shook the ground below him; his very being vibrated. He knew the sound. It was the familiar desperation of life hanging on.

“Who are you?”

Another cry answered him. His shaking stopped as he looked to its source. In the back of the ruins, there was a faint figure in the void. Rust-color stripes lit up its body. A gem in the center of its form ignited, and a flash of light washed over him.

“Who am  _ I _ ?” Dusknoir heard a echo in his mind. “Who dare not know The Great Dialga?”

“Dialga,” Dusknoir thought, “I know that name. I’ve read legends.”

“You only read. Books cannot describe the awesome power of Dialga.”

“That’s why I’m an explorer. Was an explorer. I read so much, but I wanted to see it for myself.”

“And now you are here to see The Great Dialga.”

“I was called here.”

“You are observant. I was waiting for a disciple. I knew they would come.”

“A disciple?”

“A disciple to worship The Great Dialga, Master of Temporal Tower and God of Time.”

Dusknoir finally realized what he felt. It was the perpetual death of the god of time.

“Let me ask you, Dusknoir. What is your purpose?”

“My purpose?”

“You have no guild. You have no friends. You will one day run out of things to discover. What do you have left?”

“I have nothing but my own existence.”

“Are you sure you have even that?”

Dusknoir clenched his fists. “What do you mean?”

“There are those out there that threaten this existence. They wish to tamper with time. And if they succeed...”

“We will all disappear.” 

“That is why I ask of your help, Dusknoir. If I leave this time, I have no control. But if I had someone to do it for me… to stop these fiends…”

“I will do it.” Dusknoir nodded. “I will stop them. At all costs. I swear to you, Dialga.”

“You mean Master Dialga.”

“Master Dialga. Tell me what to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I finally watched the Special Episode 5. This happened.


End file.
